


The Cord of the Crimson Queen

by Lady CAMo (LadeeCam0)



Category: Christian Bible (Old Testament)
Genre: Eisegesis, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-22 23:03:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2524976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadeeCam0/pseuds/Lady%20CAMo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While studying the TaNaKh/Jewish Bible (what Christians call the Old Testament) at seminary, I was struck by the casual way in which Rahab is referred to as a harlot in the book of Judges. It was so reminiscent of the ways even today when powerful women are demeaned (as if being a sex worker was demeaning). So, I wrote this story to offer a somewhat different possible background for this Biblical woman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cord of the Crimson Queen

It is an old device, the slandering of my sex. Should one of us rise to power in any way or outlive our husbands and successfully carry on his business, we are to be branded (figuratively, if not literally) with such titles as whore or prostitute or, as was my case, harlot.

Where do these men who slander us get these strange notions, and why do their women so placidly agree with them? Where are our defenders? Who will stand to clear our names?

And almost more importantly, if any of us were indeed prostitutes why should we be shamed? When we are denied what we need to survive and to ensure the survival of our families, why should we not take what work is available? If the only ways in which we might earn the wages we need is through selling access to our bodies, why then are we demonized? We are expected to work, and there are those among us who provide a service that is much in demand. Yet the men who would hire us are seen as good and righteous people, whereas we are to be known as whores.

I was an innkeeper, and a priestess of Astarte. And for this, I was known as a harlot.

I was also a widow, a mother, a daughter, a sister. But these things were incidental as the title given to me by the victors was Rahab the Harlot. Yet if it weren’t for my help, they might not have been victorious.

Word had reached us in Jericho of this people, a nation moving through the wilderness, destroying those who would stand against them. Could our beloved city stand against their might? That question occupied my heart as I went to the rites one night. Disrobing, I bathed and bound the sacred crimson cord about my waist, then went to lay my head at the feet of the priest of Ba’al. He, in his turn, lay his head at my feet, and we knew each other according to the ways of the rite. If this makes me a harlot, then I am a harlot for my goddess, as is right and proper.

That night as I slept with the priest, I had a dream during which I was visited by Astarte herself. She told me of the coming of the nation from the wilderness, and that El was with them. Our city would fall, and there would be nothing that could be done to stop this. I was counseled to watch for two men, spies who would come to examine the defenses of Jericho. Astarte told me to welcome and shelter them, and in return I could buy deliverance for my family.

I kept this dream to myself, a secret I would share with Astarte alone. The next day, as the goddess described, the spies arrived. As word had also reached us that this wilderness nation did not suffer the worshiping of gods other than their own, I played the part of innkeeper and harlot, sheltering them, feeding them, and laying my head at their feet. I did what I needed to do so that I and my family would live. When the king of Jericho sent men to search my home for the spies, I deceived them, falsely advising them that the spies had fled.

Before they left, the spies advised me to tie what they called my harlot’s crimson cord to the window, the very window from which they escaped. The cord would be a sign to the army that would fall upon Jericho that all within my walls were to be spared and treated with honor.

How fitting, that the cord of my office as a priestess of Astarte would deliver my family and I from this army from a nation wandering the wilderness, a nation that served another god.

The day of horror came. The noise was terrible, and the invading army fell upon our city. The walls were cast down, and a swarm of warriors stormed in. None save my family and I lived. All persons, from the oldest of the old to the youngest of the young, were slaughtered along with the livestock. It was as if the gods had abandoned us. But my crimson cord spared my life, and those of my family. Would that I could have saved more lives! The servants of El were relentless and without pity or mercy, except for those few protected by my cord. We were given leave to join with the victorious nation or to depart whither we would go. My family were too stunned to act, speak, or even think. I took charge, electing to join this nation.

And here is where the tale takes a turn. It would go on to be recorded that me and mine dwelt with this nation for ever. This was not so much a lie, as simple propaganda, a message that mercy would be shown by El to those who would aid his nation. To be sure, we lived among them for a time. But only long enough to legally get what we needed from them. And when the time was ripe, I took my family and we left, establishing a quiet but prosperous nation for ourselves. No, it’s name will not be recorded in any epic poem or song. That I was a queen of my own people is a tale that will never be told. Is this right and proper? Perhaps, perhaps not. During those days, the silence was necessary so that me and mine would live peacefully.

Astarte had not forsaken me, even when Jericho was destroyed. Love is the way of her rites, and there are times when love is shown with tears. So I continue to observe the rites of my goddess, but now I know there are other ways in which the rites may be enacted. My croning draws near, and other priestesses will take the role that I still hold. My crimson cord will be passed on, an heirloom of my house.

It is a sign of faith.


End file.
